O Ms. Apple Tree

She was a fine lady, with an apple for a head,
She carried a flute-horn, attached to a hanger, a cardboard “a”, some chocolate, orange, apple & string. They hung together as an “it”-
It stayed in the air and followed her voice, it whispered it out,
Like the wind, like the wind
So everyone around knew what she said
If they listened a little more
Or if they listened a little less
That flute-horn tended to blare, y’see.
Elegance defined, if apples could be elegant-one might meet- while walking down a glittery hall with pretend shops and restaurants sticking out of its walls- a lady with an apple for a head.
One might meet her on a plane, in the seat next, and spend the flight wondering, wondering what to say
Or on the seats next while one waits for the transit to finish at the airport, in the country one doesn’t get to see
She could be walking talking standing breathing right next to you, to us, to everyone, to the queen
She could be wearing an egg or sashaying down a train
Be aware, she’s alive, in this city
She’s come. She’s here.
She came to me one night wearing a long coat, and black heels, and gave me look,
And with a faint whispering sound, I knew then,
then that I had to draw her.Scan0241

About theshadowsofthenight

An amateur writer and amateur artist :)
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